


In Progress

by tfwfangirlsatk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk/pseuds/tfwfangirlsatk
Summary: Dealing with Peter Parker was a work in progress - the boy's stubborn disposition made him more difficult to break than most. But Quentin Beck was patient, and he was willing to take Peter the way he was. In progress. At least for the moment.





	1. Isolation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restraint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406329) by [SweetestHoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetestHoney/pseuds/SweetestHoney). 



> First, I got this idea while reading SweetestHoney's One Step Forward, Two Steps Back series so definitely go give it a read!
> 
> Second, this is by no means a perfect portrayal, but I'm planning on having at least basic knowledge and reference to real life implications of torture.
> 
> Third the summary and all editing will be done by Honey.

_ Thump. Thuh-thump. Thump. _

Peter's head throbbed and his left eye slowly opened, the right too swollen to move. What he saw didn't make sense to his pounding head, but he probably had a concussion.

The room was so dark he couldn't see in any direction he turned his head. Peter tried to touch his head and check the head injury, but he was restrained. By what, he couldn't really make out - his body was one giant bruise with more than one broken bone. Moving felt like glass rubbing together, sharp and agonizing.

He was strapped down in multiple places, though. There was one strap at each wrist and bicep. His legs were similarly restrained, with a band around his waist and chest. Whomever locked him up obviously knew how to handle his strength. 

At least, that's what they thought, he hoped he’d been underestimated. A lot of people did, when they saw his face. Peter had a way of charming people that he occasionally used to his advantage. When he stretched his arms as much as possible, he felt the prick of a needle in his right arm. He tried his hardest but couldn't see anything. Whoever locked him up knew more than he thought.

The thumping in his head continued, but it was the only sound he heard besides his own labored breathing. Peter shuddered, closing his singular eye to keep from experiencing the suffocating blackness surrounding him. It reminded him of the helplessness before The Blip, struggling with all his might under the building Mr. Toomes dropped on him. 

Knowing better, Peter cleared his throat and tasted the coppery tang of blood. With a shaking voice he got out a, "H-Hello?" There was no echo. It was odd, but noise suppression was the least of his concerns. 

He got no reply, and the longer he was conscious, the more he regained his wits. The hours before he was captured raced through his mind - MJ, her confession and accusation, the heartache that his feelings weren't returned, the hologram, calling Fury, being tricked into giving up the names of his friends, the train. He didn't remember anything after that but his attention immediately turned to MJ and Ned - they were in danger and here he was, held prisoner.

Anger and fear fought for dominance in his gut as he opened his good eye and screamed. "Beck, you fuck! Come down here and face me like a man!" 

Nothing happened for the longest time - no noise, no reply. Peter taunted the man with every bit of dread he felt. His panic tasted like acid in the back of his throat, poisoning his mouth with the taste of bile. 

"I bet you're hiding behind more of your tricks, too much of a coward to actually do anything like a real villain! You're too scared to get your actual hands dirty!" Peter yelled for several eternities, doing everything in his power to piss off the two-bit villain.

Eventually, Peter tired himself out his eyelid started to droop closed. His throat was raw, and he had rarely felt so terrified.

When Peter came to he had no way of knowing how long it had been since he was last conscious. The room was still as black and silent as before, his situation seemingly unchanged. The one changed thing was that his right eye could open a bit. It was still noticeably damaged, but whatever they pumped into his arm couldn’t stop his healing completely. 

It was obviously good news and he cracked a smile at the thought of being fully healed and getting out of his prison. Whatever he was strapped to reminded him kinetically of those old hospital beds you'd see in old horror movies from the 1980's - it kept his limbs spread eagle. It was a small blessing that it wasn't raised up, he didn’t know what it would do to his broken ribs. He knew from movies that he could very well be forced to stand for hours at a time, bolted to the table as he was. Peter suspected if one was far enough away, he'd look like e a spider pinned to a board.

Time was strange in the dark and Peter had no way to tell if there was anything new. His Spidey senses screamed constant threats and were therefore unreliable. His one constant sent constant tingles down his spine.

The isolation started to get to him - eyes watched him. There were hundreds of them in various shapes, sizes and colors. Some he knew, others he had no idea who they belonged to. They were faceless, and persisted even when he closed his own. Each stared at him with betrayal and disappointment.

He could barely fathom a guess as to what they wanted. Maybe for his part in the Blip? Perhaps because he failed them, letting Beck hurt them without stopping him? His part in letting Mr. Stark die? All of those? None of them?

Peter couldn't handle it, he squeezed his own eyes shut as tightly as possible and hummed to distract himself. Every song he knew the basic melody to, those Mr. Stark loved, every song from before the Snap, the few he'd picked up since coming back, every tune he could come up with. He kept it up until he ran out of music. After the music, he recited pi as far as he could (the thirty second decibel point on his good days), scientific theories, mathematical equations and even debunked psychology when he became desperate.

Peter started to hyperventilate, none of it worked. The peering and jeering wouldn't leave him any sort of peace. He deserved it, it was all his fault. Who was he kidding? He wasn't an Avenger. He was an almost-seventeen-year old who was bit by a spider, who people kept leaving. He didn't deserve to live when people like Tony Stark died. 

After what seemed like hours but could have only been seconds, his brain grew foggy and the world drifted away.   
  


Beck felt a smidgen bad for the kid, so sue him. No one could prove he'd upped the dosage on the elephant tranquilizers (mixed with nutrients and other additives to keep a certain teen hero's healing repressed). He wanted to break the boy, but isolation wasn't the only way to do it. He'd try something new in the morning.   
He had the spider where he wanted him, and if this was the reaction to three days of isolation, the next thing he had planned would be so very _ sweet. _


	2. Overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change for Peter when Quentin moves on to the next stage of his training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to SweetestHoney for signing on as my beta! Honey has edited the first chapter, so give it a read when you have a minute!
> 
> Thank you for all the hits, kudos, and comments!

_ Rrrrrraaannnnnoooowww duh duh duh dun-dun-dun-dun  _

An abundance of noise startled Peter awake, in opposition to the eyes that tortured him the last time. The sound of an electric guitar screeched in his ears. As he flinched, his whole body tightly against his restraints, broken ribs screamed in protest. He took in parts of his room he couldn’t see before. The screaming metal music rattled around his brain as he opened both eyes to take in what was happening.

Beck was bored leaving Peter alone in a dark room, now it felt like some B-rated torture porn horror movie: strobe lights flashed, giving glimpses of the room around him. A wall of screens showed not for the vanilla of heart kink sessions, and the ever present speakers would deafen normal hearing, let alone enhanced hearing. It grated and he couldn't tell which he preferred - the lack of noise or the abundance. 

Seeing offered the chance to formulate an escape plan. Between flashes of light, Peter made out a smallish room no larger than twenty feet by fifteen - mirrors took up a whole wall. If he was a betting man - and who was he kidding, he gambled his life and those around him on a daily basis - he'd put money it was an observation room. 

So Beck was more involved than he let on - good to know. If Peter kept up the taunts he could get to the vainglorious bastard. With an internal smile, Peter studied the room around him between flashes of the awful lights. It made his suped up attention deficit disorder crazy trying to make sense of all the stimulus.

With a shake of his head and a narrowing of his eyes, Peter saw he was indeed strapped to a bed similar to the ones used in mental hospitals in the 1920's, and a strange IV system injected some kind of fluid into his arm. He couldn't see much behind him, but it looked like the tube split into multiple parts. Interesting - it gave the option to change his formula without direct involvement. That was both beneficial and detrimental to his plan. 

He didn't see anything else of note, so he focused on planning. It wasn't easy, given the porn in front of him. He was a teenager and his body reacted like anyone's would - Peter hardened in his pants. Soon, he stood at full attention without a way to ease the situation. He shifted his hips in his confines, taking his broken ribs into account, and tried to ignore the lewd acts in front of him.

Soon enough, his eyes came back to the men fucking again. They  _ were  _ all men, not a single woman on any of the nine screens. Peter was a healthy enough teen, his sexuality not bound by any label yet. His attention was mostly drawn to women, but when America's ass was paraded around in front of you? Let's just say that his fantasies weren't contained to women alone.

He hadn't gone far in imaging what position he'd take, though. Peter imagined himself as the man holding another with a collar and cock cage on his knees, and something disconnected. Yeah, he couldn’t see himself doing that to anyone. Using someone didn’t appeal to him at all.

He switched his focus to another screen and watched a man having his prostate milked and his dick jumped at the thought. Now that,  _ that _ he could get behind. The noises the bottom made curled Peter's toes. He bit his lip and watched, wanting to touch himself to the video's loop.   
  


Eventually, his eyes closed and he saw himself in the middle of the fantasy. He felt a taller, strong male wrap him in his arms. The man was faceless, but that was fine with Peter, as long as the sensations continued. The man kissed his neck with a stubbled jaw, nipping and biting, leaving marks that would fade before the session was out.

Strong, thick, long fingers bit his hips and manhandled him onto a bed of black silk sheets. The man licked and nipped his way down Peter's body, never getting close to his erection but not ignoring it either. The mystery man would blow on it, or let his hair drag along the length in exquisite torture. 

He eventually passed it, focusing on Peter’s taint as he gave a long, lathing lick to the sweet spot Peter teased when fingering himself. As if on command, the fantasy man stroked and pressed down on his perineum before stroking back to his hole. The fingers were thicker than his own and felt so good as they teased first with one digit, then the next of the index finger into him. The burn felt sharp and exciting when Peter fingered himself, but to have a new angle … it was maddening.

The man knew just how he liked it when he added the second finger, pressing and scissoring his body apart with practiced ease. He dripped with lube but his top was good to him, wanted him ready for the huge cock coming his way. 

When he felt his prostate being touched, he almost came. That gentle, soothing motion of being fingered got more aggressive. It was torture because Peter couldn't predict what would come next. He settled into a rhythm and would be about to come but the other man would change direction and speed. It was better than any plug Peter ever owned.

Just when he got frustrated, the man wrapped his mouth around Peter's length. He came with a shout. His hips bucked into the sensations as his top kept stroking him through it, getting every drop of cum and then some more after that.   
  


When Peter opened his eyes, he was still in the room, no mystery man, and his pants full of his own spend. It was disgusting and he was embarrassed he jizzed in his pants. It only happened once when he first went through puberty! 

Knowing someone probably saw him made him want to curl up into a ball and die. Peter knew Beck wanted to embarrass him with this little display, if not why put him upright in front of a wall of porn? He was a teenager! He'd watch it and he hated that. Even his penis quickly betrayed him, rising again.

"Are you happy now, you sick fuck?" Peter yelled to be heard over the music with a renewed sense of rebellion. "You like watching a teenager get erections to BDSM porn? I bet you're whacking it behind that wall of glass! It wouldn't surprise me, you're already so pathetic that you have to appear as the hero and hurt people to do it!"

He didn't get a reply, but the volume and strobe lights increased in intensity. So the villain wasn't infallible, good to know. Peter kept taunting until he lost his voice.   
  


Beck had to give it to the kid - he dealt with this training better than the isolation. But maybe because he received stimulus instead of being ignored. The porn was a stroke of genius on his part, watching Peter react did things to him.

Maybe that was why he changed the lights and music when Peter pointed it out. Quentin Beck had a temper - anyone would if they were dealing with the snot nosed brat ruining his life's work. Beck spent  _ years  _ of his time and millions of his own money to bring it to fruition, he carefully cultivated a team to achieve his goals and personally developed the holograms.

So now he had the webbed menace in his grasp, he would use it to his advantage. Beck  _ planned  _ to brainwash the boy, but this latest experiment gave him other ideas. A personal toy, willing and able to follow commands? Now  _ that, that  _ was delicious.   
  


Peter hadn't slept, though he had no way of knowing how long for sure. His days were unpredictable and hard to follow, though the things around him rarely changed. The wall o' porn kept up, changing in an untraceable pattern. The music volume changed based on Beck's mood, the lights a similar situation. 

If Peter felt up to taunting, he did so, but as time carried on, he found it harder. The only time the webbed crusader felt so tired was when he was bitten by the spider and his DNA had started its restructuring. 

It terrified Peter to think about what Beck injected into his body. It could be nothing, or Beck could undo his powers. Peter's heart raced in fear at the idea. 

Sometimes he wished he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, especially when everyone looked to Spider-Man as the next Iron Man, but he didn't know what his life would be without it. Peter’s powers led him to Tony, to the closest thing to a father since Uncle Ben died when he was eleven. 

He met so many people, helped even more. Peter was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It wasn't the only thing he had, but if he didn't do it, people died. It was his responsibility. His burden. This whole thing with EDITH proved that.

So Peter kept his eyes open, fought when he could. He couldn't let Beck do what he was, not without Peter stopping him. Even if his body begged him to rest, he couldn't.

Beck gave it to the boy, he held out better than Beck thought he would. Quentin upped the intensity of the porn and it had noticeable effects. Peter was yappier and more defiant, which meant Beck got to him. Perfect! Time for engagement.    
  


Peter was cranky. He didn't know how long he went without sleep, but it was definitely more than his previous record of three days. Even when Mr. Stark died, he at least got an hour or two a night. 

Peter's eyes felt like lead as he stared at a man being sounded. While he was intrigued, even his penis was exhausted. He didn't react when Beck walked in. The man stood in front of him with an expectant look on his face.

"You know, Peter, I expected some taunts, maybe a loogie." The scientist turned actor paced around Peter's setup, careful of the tubes pumping garbage into his veins. "But you gave up so easily, after only ten days in my care?" 

Huh, so that was how long he'd been there. "What do you want Beck?" Peter bit out between clenched teeth. 

"World peace, but I'll settle for a proper greeting. Now repeat after me: 'Hello Sir,'" Beck flashed Peter a smile.

"Get bent." Peter grunted, eyes not leaving the screen.

"Oh you will." Beck growled in response, fisting his hand in Peter's messy brown waves. Beck yanked his head until the teen's wide brown eyes faced him. "You will  _ listen _ and you will do as I  _ say  _ and you'll  _ like it. _ And if you do something displeasing, you'll be sorry."

Peter glared, refusing to acknowledge Beck. He should have felt the hit coming his way, but his 'tingle' refused to work. The simple gold band on Beck's finger added to the impact, and Peter tasted blood as his head whipped to the side.

"Now what do you say, Parker?" Quentin's voice didn't change, nor did his outward expression shift from the careful, bemused grin.

"Yes,  _ sir _ ." Peter spat the blood in his mouth at Beck and received another backhand for his trouble.

"If you follow directions, you get rewarded." Beck said, hand smoothing the heat away from Peter's cheek before caressing down his throat and naked torso above his waistband. "Thank it over." With that he walked away, leaving Peter to a quiet and normally lit room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give the first person to guess what song I was doing for the intro a cookie. Hint: It's German.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a link to the rarepair MCU ships discord that Honey and I run together! Feel free to join! https://discord.gg/6xshb7d


End file.
